Five Texts
by azkabcn
Summary: Five texts. Five weeks. That's all it takes for Sherlock to come back. It's all it takes for him to realise he's in love. One-shot. Post TRF.


**A/N: Inspired by hannahroar's 'Outgoing'.**

* * *

 **[19/7]**

 **{** _ **Incoming**_ **}: Come home. Please. - JW**

No. He wasn't doing this to me. It had only been one week. _One week_. I had to be gone at least a year. Didn't he think I was dead? Had my plan failed already?

That couldn't happen. He needed to believe I was gone for good. I had to protect him.

I switched the phone screen off. I had to return to the task at hand. It wouldn't do me any good if I thought too much on his texts. I did not portray emotion, and I damn well wasn't going to start now.

No. I had to focus on what was going on in front of me: the darkened coffee room and the soft buzz of the customers. No one knew that I was here, and no one was going to know.

I yelped slightly as one of the chefs dropped a whole stack of utensils on the floor, resulting in a loud clatter. I winced, hoping no one had heard.

My eyes darted around; no one was looking at me. Phew. My cover still stood. I observed my surroundings, taking in every single little detail. It was amazing how much I could see, and how _stupid_ these ordinary people were.

But he wasn't ordinary. He was unique.

* * *

 **[26/7]**

 **{** _ **Incoming**_ **}: I asked you for a miracle, remember. Don't be dead. I... miss you. - JW**

Not again. Please, John. I need you to believe I'm dead. Do this for me, John. Please.

God, how pathetic did I sound? Talking to him as if he was here.

He wasn't here. He wasn't here. He was _not_ here. I just had to drill that into my head.

But that shouldn't be hard. Should be a piece of cake for someone like me. I just had to focus.

Focus. I couldn't. It'd become impossible for me to focus. My mind whirred unnecessarily, when I didn't need it to. Why couldn't I focus? Even cigarettes weren't helping. Neither were nicotine patches.

While I couldn't take cases, cigarettes and nicotine patches are the next best thing. But I'd almost run out. I needed more, and I had no way of getting them. I couldn't risk blowing my cover. Someone might recognise me and tell John that I'm alive.

No. That was an option out of the question.

I missed John like crazy and wanted to see him more than anything (wait, what? _What_ the hell did I just admit? Concentrate, Sherlock Holmes. Concentrate.) but I couldn't risk it. I needed to keep him safe.

I needed to keep _John_ safe.

* * *

 **[1/8]**

 **{** _ **Incoming**_ **}: Sherlock. You're being stupid. You need to come home. I need you to come home. Please? - JW**

This was becoming tedious now. I sighed. This was his third text. One text every week.

But, weirdly, I didn't mind. It felt nice hearing from him. I didn't reply. Obviously. I wasn't able to.

But it was extremely reassuring that he hadn't given up on me. I didn't give up on him either. He could get by without me. I knew he could.

John was strong. He had been in the damn army, for god's sake! If that didn't strengthen him then nothing would. Well, I guess solving crimes and finding dead bodies would.

But… I missed him. Before this, we had seen each other every day. We had gotten used to it. Now, even something as small as three weeks had us missing each other.

God, Sherlock, what's wrong with you?

I guess… I guess John had changed me. He'd broken the walls around my heart. He'd made me feel.

He'd made me feel… for him. All I could feel was him. Every time I thought of him, there was a sharp tug at my heart. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep thinking about him.

But I wasn't ashamed to admit it. I wouldn't be.

* * *

 **[8/8]**

 **{** _ **Incoming**_ **}: Just thought you should know I haven't given up on you. I'm still waiting. I know you'll come home. … I love you. - JW**

What? John… loved me? John Watson loved me? John Watson loved me!

This time his text didn't irritate me. It filled me with relief. I realised why I didn't mind admitting I cried myself to sleep for him. I loved him. It was plain evident now. It was there, in front of me.

Why hadn't I noticed before?

 _Because_ you didn't want to admit it. Dumbass.

Ah, that could be why. But I wasn't anymore.

I looked over his text again. A smile broke out on my face. I read over his previous texts. Granted, not much could be deduced from words, but I could've easily worked out John's feelings for me if I'd bothered to look.

He wanted me home. He hesitated before saying he missed me. He could've been ashamed saying he loved me that soon. He needed me. He hadn't given up.

I started laughing slightly. Oh, how I loved this man! He believed in me. He didn't grieve for me. Instead he was intent on getting me back. He loved me enough to try to get me back.

But did he really know I wasn't dead?

* * *

 **[15/8]**

 **{** _ **Incoming**_ **}: Are you coming? Are you coming home? Please say you are. Please say that you're coming back. Please say my efforts haven't gone to waste. Please. - JW**

OK. This guy had broken me. I wasn't _Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective_ any more. I was Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, quite plainly in love.

And strangely I wasn't afraid to confess this.

But I missed him too much.

In fact, I missed him enough to say I would abandon my plan.

Yes, it wouldn't keep him safe. But I needed to tell him that I loved him, and he would believe it if I told him face-to-face.

This was how much he had changed me. Before I left, I wouldn't have given a stuff about telling him how I felt, but now it felt as if I couldn't go back to being the old Sherlock Holmes if I didn't tell him that I loved him.

So that was what I was going to do.

I was going home. John and I could stop Moriarty together. I was foolish to think that my being away from John would stop Moriarty and keep him safe.

James Moriarty was a madman. Two heads would be better than one at stopping the idiot.

John, I love you. And I'm coming home.

* * *

 **[16/8]**

 **{** _ **Outgoing**_ **}: John, I think you'll be pleased to hear that you were right all along. I have missed you too much to be dead. I'm coming home. And… I love you, too. Believe me, I do. - SH**

I was going home. Finally, I was going back to 221b Baker Street.

There was a strange feeling inside me. Sort of… nervousness and excitement at the same time.

But… Five weeks. It had only been five weeks. I couldn't keep my act up for more than _five weeks_.

How lame, Sherlock Holmes. You're better than this.

But I was being lame for a good cause, I believed. I knew it.

I was returning to my best friend. I was returning to my love. Did I need a better cause than the force of love?

John had made me believe in love. I was still the detective I was before, but with one slight adjustment. I had made room in my heart for one other person.

That was it. I couldn't bring myself to care for anyone else. Just John.

I felt like whooping with excitement. But I'd ruin my disguise. No one could know I was alive yet. And no one would.

John would be the first. And we would announce it together.

I was going home.

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 **A/N: Enjoy it? Hate it? Whatever it made you feel, let me know. Catch ya later!**


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